Just monkeying around
by MLaw
Summary: Illya runs into a bit of trouble in London...while his partner is still in New York. Pre-saga


They came from every direction, three men wearing balaclavas, dressed in black and carrying every imaginable type of firearm.

The blond agent immediately put his hands up above his head as they surrounded him, though he had no clue who they were or why they were doing this, as it was his afternoon off while visiting the London office for the week and he'd simply gone for a stroll in the zoological gardens.

Illya Kuryakin was simply standing, admiring a botanical curiosity called the _Weeping Beech_," _Fagus sylvatica pendula," he said to himself "also known as "the upside-down tree." _

That thought was suddenly interrupted...

"All roight mate, hand it over," one of the armed men spoke in a thick accent.

"I am sorry, I do not know what you are referring to." For once the Russian wasn't lying. His answer got him a punch in the stomach for his trouble, and he doubled over with an "Ooof!"

He gasped for breath and when he regained it, he spoke out very calmly. "I do not have anything and I do not know what you are talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else."

"No we 'aven't," the obvious leader called out. "Tie 'im up and take 'im wif us."

Illya daren't try to break free as there were too many guns aimed at him, and he submitted as they gagged and bound him.

Amazingly there was no one near the grand entrance to the park and they were able to drag the Russian to a lorry that was waiting for them.

He was lifted like a feather, tossed inside none too gently and when the doors were slammed closed the truck took off with the wheels screeching on the cobblestone street. Inside the van he was kicked none too gently, and surrounded by laughter.

His mind was racing, trying to pay attention to the sounds outside the van.

Illya counted the seconds, noting when it felt like the vehicle was turning left or right, counting between stops, and when they hit a bump. He heard voices at one point, most likely a traffic light. Outside it sounded like a marketplace, with people hawking their wares. By his estimation they had traveled approximately fifteen minutes before they slowed to a final stop.

He heard what sounded like a door, a garage door perhaps, as it squeaked open and the lorry eased forward, coming to a complete stop as the door clanged closed behind it.

They ripped the blindfold and gag from his face and grabbing him; they lifted him like a rag doll and carried Kuryakin across what looked like a warehouse where he was lowered to a chair.

"Don't try wriggling free of them ropes," one of the men snarled at him."I'm tops at tying knots, and nobody gets free of mine."

"Rest assured, I will endeavor not to do challenge your mighty knots that you have tied with such adept skill."

"What'd 'e say Louie?"

Go on ye wanker!" Louie cuffed the man," I told you no names!. Now blondie where that statue?"

"What statue?"

"Don't play dumb wif us...you know the long lost Remington. The bronze monkeys."

"Bronze monkeys?" Illya hesitated trying to make sense of their answer, then he remembered there had been an article in the Guardian regarding a lost bronze by the American artist Remington. It was a rather obscure and completely out of character piece of artwork supposedly produced by the man. It was simply a statue depicting three monkeys...hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Though Kuryakin had no clue as to why these three could be interested in it, if it did indeed exist. These men were, as far as he could see, idiots.

The three started arguing like a bunch of nimrods, completely ignoring their prisoner, who proceeded to work his way free of the ropes that were not so well tied as had been bragged.

Illya slipped from the chair, completely amazed as he crept away, disappearing into what looked like a darkened warehouse. He quickly discovered there was no other way out and looking upwards, he saw rafters and a skylight.

He shimmied up one of the support beams, swinging himself upwards with the skill of a gymnast and balanced himself carefully across the roof beams, heading towards the skylight and his freedom.

The Russian tried not to give himself away by laughing at the trio as they were now screaming at each other when they realized their prisoner was gone. A slapping match ensued, and moments later they began searching the warehouse.

"Ye bollocks, you've let 'im get away!"

"Did not, it's your fault. You and your fancy knots and all. You couldn't tie a string about a sack o' spuds!"

He could hear them continuing to argue as they searched for him.

"_Bolvan_idiots,"_ Illya mused to himself. Once their voices were far enough away, he opened the skylight and lifted himself out to the roof. Walking as lightly as a cat, he made his way to the edge, and climbed down a drain pipe. He looked to the lorry, still parked there outside of the closed doors, and inside it; he saw the keys still in the ignition.

There on the dashboard lay his Walther and communicator. The agent shook his head, amazed how this was...too easy, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Illya turned, noting the name on the warehouse above the door.

Illya climbed into the driver's seat, started the van and drove away at a rather leisurely speed; careful not to draw the attention of the idiots. He smiled as he drove away, thinking these three could have been characters right out of a Dostoyevsky story. Come to think of it,"he snickered, reminding himself, "Dostoevsky did write a story called _"The Idiot."_

He picked up his communicator, calling into London headquarters.

"Channel D-Kuryakin. Security please."

"Security Mr. Kuryakin, how can we be of assistance?"

"I need a clean up crew, fifteen minutes from headquarters at a warehouse called Stirling Moving and Storage. You should find three rather confused would-be kidnappers, not too smart though as I was able to get away from them quite easily."

"Are you all right sir?"

"Fine. I am none the worse for wear. Kuryakin out."

Just as he was about to put away his communicator, it chirped.

"Tovarisch, how goes it?" The voice of Napoleon Solo came across loud and clear.

"Uneventful." A typical Illya answer, dry, short and to the point.

"Really? I thought Belden would be keeping you busy."

"I have been fairly, but today I had the afternoon off. So I spent my time monkeying around, going for a stroll in the park and a little drive, that is about it,"Illya answered playfully." And you Napoleon, missing my company?"

"Oh trust me chum I haven't had a chance to miss you. Funny you should mention monkeys; I've been on a security detail guarding some cockamamie monkey statue that just arrived here from the U.K. Some sort of lost bronze by Remington. If you ask me it's pretty ugly and tasteless."

"A Remington bronze….do tell?" Illya smiled, thinking the would-be art thieves had tangled with the wrong UNCLE agent...in the wrong country.

"Well you're not going to believe this, after wasting my time helping to keep that thing secure, the authenticators at Parke-Bernet, the largest auctioneer of fine art in the United States...I might add, determined the lousy statue to be a fake. So if anything I think I was the one monkeying around. All my work is piling up and I had to cancel three dates, and one of them was with Veronica...you remember her with the big…"

"Napoleon I do not wish to be regaled with descriptive tales of your lost loves, please."

"Aren't you being the touchy one." Sensing something was up with his partner, Napoleon changed the subject. "So when are you coming home?"

"In two days time."

"Good, it'll be nice to have you back. I do miss you chum. ….gotta go. I have a meeting with Mr. Waverly in five minutes. Bye"

"Good bye my friend. Do not get into too much trouble without me."

"I'll try not to...tell you what I'll save it all for when you come back. Solo out."

The communicators were closed, and the two men each went on their way.

Napoleon Solo smiled, looking at this desk and the pile of papers sitting there. "Yep it'll be good to have you back tovarisch."

Somehow Illya Kuryakin instinctively felt the need to roll his eyes as he thought about what probably awaited him on his partner's desk. Still, it was good to be missed, and that made him smile.


End file.
